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Intemartecium|| Dramione

1. Incarcerated

STRAGGLED FOOTSTEPS were swamped out by the rain, crippling the air.

“They’re here early,” the blonde girl buzzed from between the bars, “have you been counting?”

Hermione Granger let herself rest upon the freezing wall of her cell, “Not today.”

The similar shoes of Augustus Rockwood were coming down the staircase, each girl’s eyes perking up. Behind him followed a familiar face, one that hadn’t been seen by them since the Battle of Hogwarts.

The dazed witch kept babbling, “They’re three days too early. The second of January isn’t until tomorrow, and mealtime isn’t for a couple more hours-”

Ginny pulled Luna back from the bars of their shared space, “Hush, Luna. They’re coming our way.”

The harsh clangs of the keys that sat in the loophole of Rockwell’s pants echoed in their ears. A hood was over the stranger’s face, none of them able to see him due to his obscurations.

“What do you want?” Lavender Brown snottily spat from the cell across from them. A sigh of relief escaped the other girls’ lungs when she didn’t say anything out of line. Her hair was matted to her head, her appearance significantly more untidy than the other girls.

Everyone thought her to be mad, the glisten of insanity so prevalent in her eyes with every waking moment in the dungeons.

And as the seasons changed, Hermione took note of her fellow cellmates’ mental decline; Lavender Brown had an undiagnosed case of Schizophrenia.

They’d discover her talking-- sometimes screaming-- to herself at night. It was almost disturbing to listen to.

During the day, they tried their best to keep Lavender quiet; any disturbances she caused would have her dragged to Alecto Carrow. Each time she’d return to her fellow prisoners, her condition worsened.

Rockwood came to the door of their cell as his accomplice stayed in the shadows, “I’m here for Lovegood.”

Hermione stood up from her cot, no longer suppressing the urge to protest. Her throat was dry, and her lips were chapped as she steadily came to the rusty bars of her cell.

Ginny didn’t hesitate to step in front of her friend and take her hand, panic rousing her dry throat. “What are you doing?”

The man stepped into their space, his nostrils flaring as he approached the red-haired girl who puffed her chest out and stuck her chin up.

Hermione’s brows furrowed as she turned her head to the two girls through the strips of metal beside her, “Be careful, Ginny.”

The man continued his advance, backing them into a wall.

“You can’t take her! She hasn’t done anything wrong-”


Ginny soothed a hand over her stinging cheek. Her face turned in the other direction. After all these years, the Weasley girl hadn’t lost her spirit.

Not with Luna beside her, at least.

There was no response from the hooded figure.

Rockwood let out a chuckle as he roughly grabbed the blonde by her upper arm, his unrelenting grip provoking her to resist even more, “Come on, you little brat-”

“Don’t touch her,” the man huskily muttered from the shadows.

His voice was familiar. Almost nostalgic to Luna.

The dirty death eater’s hold on her faltered as she turned to look back at Ginny, who wore a perpetual scowl.

Her heart ached as she looked at her friend.

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you,” Ginny heaved, getting up from the floor, “Don’t listen to them, Luna. They’re going to--”

“Come, Lovegood,” the figure stood at the archway of her cell, his towering frame nearly too broad to fit in the doorway, “Now.”

He offered his hand to her, taking a step into the dark chamber.

Hermione observed silently, taking mental notes in her head of their interaction.

A flush of speculation came across Luna’s cheeks in the dim torchlight. She studied the man’s calloused hands, taking them into hers as Rockwood continued to glare at Ginny.

Clearly, the cloaked man was a higher rank of Death Eater than Rockwood if he granted him the leniency of time.

Her delicate, trembling fingers came across the palm of his hand, studying the lines across them.

A pair of soft brown eyes could be seen staring at the skin that peeked out of Luna’s sleeve, accompanied by a handsome face.

There were burns where shackles used to lay. For a while, they kept her under magic suppressing irons because Luna could easily use wandless magic. But soon enough, her power found its way into the graveyard in her mind, where it lay buried ever since. She was one of the only ones who didn’t have access to magic anymore. They had tortured the essence out of the witch until it was controlled-- and soon-- dormant.

Luna stared up at him absent-mindedly and dropped his hands. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not.”

“Where are you taking her?” Hermione spoke up. The man now turned to her so that she could see pale skin underneath his hood.

Lavender perked up, “If You-Know-Who sees he’s missing a--”

"Voldemort,” Hermione corrected. Her glare was stiff on Rockwood, who was ushering Luna and his accomplice out of the cell. “His name is Voldemort.”

“I’ll cut your tongue out, mud-blood,” Rockwood threatened.

Their threats weren’t empty.

Fleur Delacour was the only one who had stayed silent in their section of the dungeon. A spell had been cast that permanently stole her voice. She did too much screaming, you see, and for good reason too.

She delivered a stillborn baby boy due to complications after watching Bill’s death.

Bill’s death was public, almost two years ago. He was chosen to duel one month. His partner was Ginny, and she was forced to kill him. And God knows he’d never hurt his baby sister.

Moreover, Fleur’s cellmate was knocked out from a session with Dolohov. Poor Cho had it the worst. Some of the death eaters had a certain fetish for her race, making her an excellent target to fulfill their needs.

Lovegood began to walk up the stairs, her weak eyes meeting the rest of the captives before the cloaked man followed her up.

“Luna, stop!” Ginny cried as her fingers grasped at the rods of metal, “Please don’t take her-- She hasn’t done anything-”

Rockwood shut her up, ”Crucio.”

A deafening shriek penetrated their eardrums as she was thrown back to the dirty floor of her cell, Hermione’s eyes widening at the sight.

“Stop it!”

“You stay away from her!” Luna shouted. Her call was soft yet demanding. A hand was placed around her waist, which silenced any more protests.

“Quiet, Lovegood,” he pulled her back so that she was against him, “Not another word from you or you’re next.”

“I’ll see you soon,” she delicately called out. “I promise.”

Rockwood stopped his assault, a smirk across his ugly features as he looked down at the girl who stood still against the floor, “Blood traitor.”

A horrified glance was exchanged between all the girls as Ginny let out a quiet sob, her hand twitching on the floor. She laid still, but Hermione knew exactly what was racing through her mind.

The footsteps ceased as the three left, Luna being left in the hands of whatever wretched death eater had requested her presence.

"Ginny,” Hermione reached through the bars, holding her ankle and rubbing soothing circles on the flesh, “it will be okay. I promise you’ll see her again--”

“Did they take her to Dolohov?” Cho had woken up, still drowsy from the drugs they’d administered to her. She rubbed her eyes and noted the absence in the cell diagonal from her and Fleur.

Lavender groaned and sat on her cot. Underneath her breath, she muttered to the wall, her hands moving as if she was speaking to someone. “Luna’s better off dead if she’s with him,” she covered her mouth, whispering to the illusions conjured by psychosis.

The girls tried to ignore her.

“Is everything okay, Cho?” Hermione asked, peeling her eyes away from Ginny only for a moment, “Do you want me to have a look at you--”

"No,” she shook her head quickly, “No, thank you.”

She nodded.

There was no form of consolation that could be provided for any of them. It was best not to talk about it.

“Try to rest,” Hermione raised her brows at the three girls at the other side of the room, “We’ll all need it before tomorrow.”

A nod of acknowledgment was reciprocated between the group as they assumed their resting positions.

Ginny began to shift and shiver as she pushed herself off the ground. Hermione moved the contact from the girl’s ankle to her hand as she collected her bearings, tears tinting her eyes with their shine. Their heads rested together between the bars.

“Match my breathing, Ginny,” Hermione suggested, slowly taking an exaggerated inhale, “Come on.”

Ginny had clung onto Luna for three years now; they were almost inseparable. Hermione perceived it as codependency.

She took an observation of Lavender, who sat up with her eyes pried open.

Everyone at school always thought Luna was out of it, but as the years passed, Luna’s thoughts tended to wander less. Soon, those soothing voices that she heard began to disappear, and she only heard her own.

The voices that Luna heard were in correlation to her belief in the afterlife; Lavender’s, however, strayed far beyond the veil of death.

Hermione analyzed her jail mates as they drowned in the tides of distress, their minds bobbing at the surface of the unforgiving waves of brutality for so long. She watched their spirit rot, followed by their minds, and finished with their heart.

It was only a matter of time before she’d decay too.

Fleur’s eyes began to flutter shut as Cho faced the wall, curled up into a ball.

Soon, Hermione began to hum a lullaby. A simple tune, something she’d learned on the piano when she was young. It brought her solace. The vibrations were comforting as they steadied the rhythm of her rampant heart, blending with the vulgar lament coming from down the hall.

The boys never cooperated without a fight.


“McLaggen was screaming again, wasn’t he?” Ginny muttered to her brother, taking a bite out of the stale bread served to them on corroded metal plates. “Infighting again?”

“With Ron,” George muttered weakly, not touching his food, “I wouldn’t say it was entirely Cormac’s fault either.”

“How’s his temper?” Hermione frowned, fervent to know the status of his crumbling psyche. “After the last battle, I didn’t expect him to get any better.”

They looked to Ron, who sat with Dean and Neville. He had been dodging Hermione and what was left of his family for the past month out of the humiliation of what he’d done.

He was chosen the most often out of any of them.

Ron’s musty, worn features reminded Hermione of Horcrux hunting with him and Harry. This time, his attitude was worse than when he wore that necklace.

As the years went on of their routine, most of them had grown accustomed to the fact that they’d all fall prey to the killing curse from one another’s hands. Ron, however, had sandbags upon his shoulders. He dragged those weights around him, unable to let them go.

“He needs to learn to forgive himself for Hannah,” Seamus came next to them. He had heard their entire conversation. “She wasn’t gonna last here anyways. Weasley did her a favor--”

“It could be you today,” Hermione cut in. Seamus had always been unafraid to speak up. “It’s best not to talk about what we’ve all done for survival.”

Ginny focused back on her plate, the stale bread and cheese unable to sustain them for long. Some days, they’d get fed stew when there were leftovers from the cafeteria.

“You didn’t sleep again, huh. Granger?” George nudged her as he noticed the bags underneath her eyes. She always had them. Since they were kept underground, the concept of time was almost immeasurable. The dungeons of the Ministry of Magic had driven plenty of them mad.

“It was loud.” She nodded, not wanting to talk about Luna’s departure.

Ginny sat next to her, acting unfazed yet so blatantly impaired. Her fingertips were trembling-- they had been all morning. The repercussions of the Cruciatus Curse were blatantly obvious.

“You should eat, George,” his sister suggested, eyeing his food. “You should be at full strength today--”

“Have it,” he grimaced, drawing his stare over to behind Hermione. She turned around to follow his gaze.

“George, I--”

“Take it, Ginny.”

Hermione and the last Weasley twin tore their glance away from the figure that stood in the doorway.

Draco Malfoy gazed at the wall, sweat glistening off his brow as he walked into the room full of people.

All of them were scattered in litter groups with their remaining classmates. Most of them were quiet, keeping to themselves as they tried to stomach their meals. There were about fifty of them left. There used to be roughly two hundred. Some died from early suicide attempts, the other from the battles. Most of them had died in the first three months when they’d fight with the guards. However, the Dark Lord made a rule of ‘no killing the prisoners.’

He made sure each death was public. It kept his supporters and the rest of the wizarding world well aware of his power.

It ensured no rebellion.

Draco’s face was expressionless as he took to his usual corner. No one talked to him, really. He was Cormac’s cellmate, but other than that, there was no reason for any of them to address him. He had, after all, bullied at least half the room in their schooling days.

Malfoy had fallen from grace in the Wizarding World not only once-- but twice.

“Have a good morning, mate?” Cormac taunted him. “I see you’ve warmed up for today.”

During the Battle of Hogwarts, he chose the right side, but it was also the losing one. There was no praise for him as he betrayed his Slytherin friends and was ‘redeemed’ in the eyes of the Order. Instead, he was considered a traitor and was punished as such.

The Dark Lord had resulted in killing the Purebloods if they showed retaliation as well, his administration a river that drowned its own fish.

"Ecstatic,” he grumbled, coming to his own corner and ignoring another one of McLaggen’s pathetic offers at friendship.

Draco had taken these past years to strengthen his frame, his escape undoubtedly arriving soon.

He wanted to be ready.

He wanted to be ready to reemerge into society as the last victor of the Dark Lord’s tournament.

All heads turned as Walden Macnair appeared from the doorway, “It’s time.”


She was dragged out, shackles against her now thin wrists. Hermione had done her fair share of fighting these past moons.

On the 2nd of every month, in remembrance of Harry Potter’s defeat, they held a battle between the last of the followers of the Order and anyone in compliance with it.

Three pairs were selected to duel for the amusement of the Death Eaters and their families. Young children were even encouraged to watch, the Dark Lord considered it would be best to show them young.

Annually, in May of each passing year, they’d invite the public to watch.

In the dungeons, they weren’t treated half as bad as one would think. Their punishment was far worse than torture.

“Are you feeling okay, Hermione?” Cho Chang muttered from in front of her.

She didn’t have the chance to respond as Cormac McLaggen butt into their conversation, trailing behind her with shackles on his large wrists, “Please, we all know the Dark Lord won’t risk his Golden Girl on a private match; he’s waiting till May. If she’s lucky, she won’t get chosen until it’s just her and bloody Weasley. The ‘epic battle’ of Potter’s famous friends.”

Neither of them responded. Even his presence behind them was frightful enough.

The late Hannah Abbott had been taken by the blonde brute before she passed. She was taken by him multiple times.

Every woman’s personal form of punishment.

“Cat got your tongue, Chang?” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, we all know you’re too popular to let go...”

The girl was never chosen. Cho hadn’t been chosen since the day she stepped foot into the hands of the Death eaters because the men simply took too much pleasure with her. But to be honest, she’d rather battle with her peers than be forced to perform another session with one of them again. It truly was a fate worse than death.

“You’re vile,” Hermione seethed and sent a pitiful look to Cho. The girl had already continued walking.

The Dark Lord sat atop a large granite, throne-like seat, next to Bellatrix Lestrange and Corban Yaxley. His most accomplished subordinates were rewarded well for their series of victories in the first Battle of Hogwarts.

Lestrange and Yaxley were important pillars of the duels. Bella had no hesitation in torturing the contestants in order to increase motivation. Yaxley was proficient in the Imperius Curse, keeping the Minister of Magic completely in his control throughout the battle. If the contenders retaliated or refused to participate, Yaxley made them. The commentators couldn’t put a toe out of line with his curse upon them.

The Dark Lord’s system worked exceptionally well.

Every other month, they switched off the spectator of the match, a new Order member forced to annotate the strikes cast against the young prisoners. When Ginny and Bill were chosen, Molly was exacted to commentate the murder of her son at the hands of her daughter. Yaxley’s curse produced her voice as a sports announcer, her desperate rasp resounding from the walls of the Department of Mystery. She didn’t speak for months afterward, repulsed by her sound.

January produced Augusta Longbottom as the interpreter of the match. It always was a bout of irony that someone close to the competitors was chosen.

"Imperio,” Yaxley removed his wand from Augusta’s harsh gaze, her face turning blank. Her collar was yanked up, bringing her ear to his lips. Whispered words carried her instructions.

“Welcome to the first Occidendum Justorum of the year 2001.” The audience of Death Eaters applauded loudly. “This will be an exciting match. Concessions are on the left-wing. Bring out the first pairing!”

Rockwood and Dolohov burst into the arena, dragging the first contestants of the night.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil! Both former members of Dumbledore’s Army and the Order. The Indian one even accompanied Harry Potter to the Yule Ball many years ago... It’s rumored that Potter even lost his virginity to her! Wonder if Weasley has something to say about that?”

Ginny’s head bowed in shame as the audience booed at her. Most of the people doing the booing were the grown men. The mothers and children stayed put in their seats, their expressions unreadable.

“Let the games begin!” Augusta was ushered to her seat, chains sprung from the arms and legs of the chair, shackling her in to watch.

Lavender and Parvati stood on opposite ends, both 10 paces away from the center.

Numbers were floating on the ceiling; it was the same charm used to conjure a night sky across the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

"Crucio,” she aimed her wand at Parvati, missing by a couple of feet.

Everyone watched as they began to circle each other. Lavender was muttering something under her breath, her hallucinations taking place out in the open. No one could see them but the girl as a crazed look came onto her face.

Draco tore his gaze away, seemingly uninterested and too apprehensive to focus.

He eyed the raven at the top of the arena as it spread its wings.

Fuck that blasted creature.

How envious Draco was that he had the privilege to be free of the punishment he was bound to. The prisoner saw it as a blatant mockery of his situation.

That fucking bird wore his colors as well-- jet black. It was almost insulting.

Resentment was carved in the craters beneath his eyes.

“She’s gone mad!” Parvati screeched as she called out to the Dark Lord, trying to get a clear shot at her opponent. ”Stupefy!”

The color upon his cheeks was almost sickly as he turned his attention back to the fight. A scream erupted from Lavender’s mouth as she began to send red sparks towards the audience, a protective shield protecting the bystanders from any harm.

“I’ll protect all of you!” Lavender screamed into nothingness, her stance guarding a corner with wide arms. ”Avada Kedavra!”

She missed.

Draco almost laughed.

The rest of the contestants had appalled expressions as they watched Parvarti take another hit. Hermione let out a small gasp as red sparks were sent in every direction.

“Who do you think is gonna win?” Cormac’s head dipped down to Hermione as she felt his stubble prick against the tip of her ear. “My bet’s on Lavender... we all know how reckless she can be.”

“These are lives,” Hermione scowled, turning to him with ragged and fierce eyes. “You don’t place bets on your friends--”

“I’ll do what I please, Granger,” he shrugged, turning to face her as a loud gasp emerged from the audience. “Unlike you, I’d like to spend my last moments not bloody miserable all the time--”

“Weren’t you caught for fighting with Ron last night--?”

“We have a winner!” Augusta’s voice boomed, the undertones of fear coating her pitch. “Congratulations, Lavender Brown!”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of Parvarti’s lifeless body on the floor. Lavender was still in the corner, protecting hallucinations of people as two guards came to her side, disarming her and dragging her out of the arena.

“Told you,” Cormac tilted his head to the side nonchalantly. ”Reckless.”

Padma let out a heart-wrenching scream, running to her sister, who no one had attended to.

Instantly, more guards were sent out to restrain her as well. Her sobs were silent against the loud cheers of the audience.

“Next up... Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane!” The two were dragged out from opposite ends, as usual, wands in hand.

The next duel began almost immediately.

They moved on from her death too quickly-- almost as if it didn’t matter.

There were blind tears down Padma’s face. Her hand clawed at what was left of her twin sister as they dragged them in separate directions. They held the breathing twin by the arms... and the dead one by the collar of her shirt-- her face was being scraped across the ground.

The expression on Padma’s face was a representation of what almost every prisoner felt. Besides Cormac, there’s only one man who would give him a run for his grim reputation-- Draco Malfoy.

Hateful, vicious, and merciless.

Draco sat sulking in the corner before Dolohov came to his side, whispering in his ear. Before the blonde could comply with his orders, he looked up at the five poles that held a prisoner.

Four large poles had Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Xenophilius Lovegood, and Sybil Trelawny. The fifth one was empty.

Each day, he prayed his mother wasn’t in that position.

He left swiftly, ignoring Romilda, who had already thrown the first shot. No one noticed his disappearance.

“We’re saved for another month, then?” Cho’s voice trembled as Hermione watched tears crowd at her lash line. Unconsciously, she reached for her friend’s hand, trying to squeeze a portion of the charade of courage that Miss Granger radiated.

Hermione squeezed back, the clinking of the metal upon their wrists reminding them that they could easily be next, “Another month...” She had to look away from the scene, unable to watch another one of her classmates murder each other. Many of the others did the same.

She looked up, observing that same raven as it wobbled across the rim of the bowl. Below them was the audience. Then, the pillars of older captives.

Molly Weasley was staring at what was left of her family with tenderness and grief glassed onto her eyes. She was forced to watch her children kill each other for years now. This was the only time she’d ever see them-- when they were about to die.

Ginny refused to kill Bill, through her retaliation, they brought out Molly and used the Cruciatus Curse on her.

They kept her breathing to watch her children kill each other. However, Arthur hadn’t survived that far.

That was the consequence of rebellion.

They held Xenophilius Lovegood on a totem too. His eyes searched the line of prisoners for a sign of his Luna, but he never found her. One day, he would understand what happened.

Their old professors were taken captive as well.

Today, they had McGonagall strung up, her hands above her head in a ragged white gown. Her lips were dry-- bleeding as she begged them to quench her thirst. The once honest and fair composure she held was now abandoned as her head hung low. The poor woman was forced to watch as two generations of her students were killed, if not my Voldemort, by each other.

And Trelawny... She was reminded everyday of how Harry Potter didn’t win-- how her prophecy was as good as shit.

Romilda Vane screamed, snapping Hermione back from her daze. Her stare diverted down to Augusta Longbottom, who was heavily sobbing as she narrated Dean Thomas landing a fatal blow on his opponent.

Romilda was dead on the floor.

Cho’s sob was heavy in her throat as Hermione held her hand tighter, careful not to draw too much attention. It didn’t matter how many times they had seen their friends murdered by each other; it always stung just the same.

“I wanted the girl!” A man called out from the audience and shouted to Rockwood. “She would’ve been much better use to me, don’t you agree?”

“Unless you have a taste for cold pussy,” Walden Macnair shouted to him, “I don’t think you’ll want this one anymore.”

Laughs exploded from the men in the audience. They were pigs—every single one of them.

Cormac began to clap slowly; his lack of empathy or any human emotions disturbed everyone in line. Ron sent a dull stare in his direction.

“Last, but certainly not least... the traitor Draco Malfoy and my grandson, Neville Longbottom!” Augusta shrieked, her voice trembling with each word she said. Her expressions were frightful as the two competitors were escorted by no one, meeting the other’s hard stares as they prepared to fight for their lives.

“I’ve been waiting for this one, my Lord...” Bellatrix stood up from her seat, looking at her master, “What a coincidence that my own nephew will be the one to finish the job.”

“Ready...” the old woman breathed, the other parents on the totems looking now too.

“Destroy him, Draco!” Bellatrix cackled, a wicked smile dawning on the Dark Lord’s snake-like face.

“Set...” Augusta was sobbing as the two boys raised their wands.

“You can do this, Neville,” Hermione muttered under her breath, the outcome of this match already wounding her before it had begun.


"Expelliarmus!” Neville shouted with an offensive stance.

Draco easily blocked the spell, knowing that he had to drag this fight out longer. The entertainment was what the people wanted the most; he needed to provide that by playing along with these games.

"Protego!” The blonde took menacing steps forward, his pace quickening as he began to block spells cast by Longbottom.

The majority of them had swallowed the pill of Draco being manipulated at sixteen to become an instrument of murder.

But his loyalties were the least of their problems.


He did not have a problem killing. He was no longer a sacred boy that was so troubled to find his place in the world. If he could go back to the night he failed to complete his Master’s wishes; he would have killed Dumbledore without a second thought.

"Reducto!” Longbottom panicked, Draco’s steps corning him as he blocked his offensive spells.

Hermione’s hands began to sweat. Her grip on Cho hadn’t ceased. If anything, she was now the one squeezing the backbone out of her hands.

The audience was in a frenzy as Malfoy stopped his defensive spells, sending strikes onto Neville’s chest.

His hair was unkempt with smudges of dirt upon his cheeks. The sweat that glistened off of his brow was even appealing to some teen girls in the audience.

He was always one of the three pairs in the month of May when the public was allowed to watch. Slytherin girls screamed for him.

"Crucio!” Draco sneered as Longbottom fell to the floor. ”Crucio!”

Augusta was forced to remain quiet. The light left her eyes as she witnessed her kin suffer the same fate his parents did by the same line of dark wizards.

McGonagall had long looked away; every adult with the Order did.

And for the first time in so long, Bellatrix gleamed with pride.

It was supposed to be a bitter triumph for each winner, but for Draco Malfoy, it seemed as though it was an easy task.

How else would he pay the price for his freedom? No amount of money could sway the Dark Lord’s mind after a betrayal.

He put on a show to entertain the guests... He was a crowd favorite, after all.

“AH!” Neville cried out, tears forming in his eyes as he looked to his Grandmother-- she was the last sight he saw.

"Avada Kedavra.”

The crowd went wild.

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